


wide awake in the dark

by chibistarlyte



Series: Hobbit Drabbles [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Kink Meme, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Sleepwalking, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 08:04:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2262120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibistarlyte/pseuds/chibistarlyte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Thorin ended up sleepwalking into Bilbo's bed, and the one time he was awake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wide awake in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick fill for the Hobbit kink meme. The prompt was to have either Bilbo or Thorin sleepwalk into the other's bed. This took quite an angsty turn, so I'm sorry about that.
> 
> Not beta'd, since this is going in my drabbles collection.
> 
> Enjoy!

1.

The first time it happened, the soft click and creak of a door opening roused Bilbo from his sleep.

There was a light shuffle of footsteps across the stone floor, more muffled and scratching when they reached the rug. The hobbit sat up in his oversized bed, rubbing at his eyes. Someone was in his room.

“H-hello?” he called blearily into the darkness, but there was no answer. The footsteps didn’t stop.

Bilbo reached blindly over to his bedside table, searching for something to light his candle with. When a heavy weight dropped onto the bed, he let out an undignified squeak and practically flew off his bed towards his desk on the other side of the room. His sleep-logged legs barely let him stand; he gripped the edge of the desk for balance.

He couldn’t hear anything else after that—just the heaving breaths from his own lungs and faint snoring coming from the bed.

What on earth…?

Fumbling around the contents of his desk, he located a half-depleted candle and a match. He struck the match and lit the wick, lighting the room just enough to see a rather large figure taking up space on his bed.

On his silent hobbit feet, Bilbo crept closer to get a better look.

There, bathed in the dull orange light of the tiny flickering flame, lay Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain.

Bilbo almost dropped the candle.

For a while, all the hobbit could do was just stare dumbly at the dwarf sleeping on his bed—and Bilbo was about ninety-five percent sure Thorin was legitimately sleeping, if his snores were anything to go by. But then, why was he here in Bilbo’s room? It wasn’t like they were the best of friends anymore; they’d hardly spoken in the time since the battle ended and the restoration of Erebor began. And Bilbo had never known Thorin to be prone to sleepwalking.

And he really couldn’t go back to sleep with a burly dwarf sprawled all over his bed, burrowing into his pillows and blankets.

Mind made up, Bilbo set the candle on his bedside table and knelt on his bed. Gently, he shook Thorin’s shoulder and tried to ignore the intense heat radiating off the dwarf.

“Thorin,” he whispered. “Wake up.”

Thorin shot up in the bed with a guttural shout, scaring Bilbo half to death. The hobbit yelped and fell completely off the bed, nearly knocking the candle over when his flailing limbs hit the bedside table on his descent to the floor. The dwarf looked around, panicked, before settling his widened eyes on Bilbo.

“Master Baggins? Wh—what are you doing in my room?” Thorin asked, voice raspy with sleep.

“I should be asking you the same question,” Bilbo replied a bit breathlessly from the floor. Gingerly he rose to his knees so he could peer at Thorin over the edge of the bed.

The king, finally seeming aware of himself, looked around the room that was obviously not his. The expression that overtook his features was akin to horror that melted quickly into embarrassment. “I…I’m sorry, I—“

“No, no, it’s quite all right,” Bilbo, ever the gentlehobbit, said politely. “You just, er…startled me, is all.”

Well, that was one word for it.

Thorin had a bit of difficulty maneuvering himself off Bilbo’s bed, his body still sluggish with fatigue now that the adrenaline from being woken so suddenly was starting to fade. Once he got to his feet, Bilbo slowly rose to his own and kept his distance.

They both just stood there, neither of them saying a word for a few long moments.

“I’m actually impressed you made it all the way down here,” Bilbo pointed out—anything to ease the awkward silence that fell between them. And he was being truthful; Thorin’s chambers were two floors up, in the royal wing. That the dwarf had made it down to Bilbo’s quarters without a hitch, asleep no less, was rather remarkable.

It must have been a trick of the light, Bilbo decided, when he saw Thorin’s face redden just a bit at the comment.

Thorin cleared his throat a bit louder than was absolutely necessary. “My apologies again, Master Baggins. Good night.” And then he was across the room and out the door before Bilbo could get another word in.

The door clicked shut when Thorin left, and Bilbo didn’t think his room had felt so empty before.

He stood dumbfounded, turning the events of the past few minutes around in his mind before shaking his head and crawling back into bed. He snuffed the candle out, his room falling back into a darkness that only the inside of a mountain could possess.

Bilbo fell asleep soon after, the weirdness of this late-night interruption nearly forgotten by then.

 

* * *

 

2.

The second time it happened, Bilbo didn’t even hear his door open.

In fact, the first thing he noticed was the dipping of his mattress as someone slipped into bed behind him followed by the warm and insistent weight at his back. Still half-asleep, he didn’t think much of it. It almost felt…nice.

What jolted him awake, however, was a pair of arms snaking around him and holding him for dear life.

The hobbit thrashed and flailed, fighting his way out of the muscular arms holding him in place. He ended up accidentally kicking the perpetrator right in the shin, eliciting a loud bark of pain. There was some muttering in Khuzdul—muttering in an all-too-familiar gravelly voice.

Bilbo froze.

“Thorin?”

Even in the dark, Bilbo could see—could _feel_ —those bright blue eyes trained on his face.

“H-how did I get here?” the king asked, his words coming out in a choked whisper.

“I think…you were, um…sleepwalking again,” Bilbo guessed, remaining as still as a rabbit in the eyes of a predator. Of all the ways he used to imagine Thorin in his bed, it was never under circumstances such as these.

And he was stopping _that_ train of thought before it went any further.

The bed shifted as Thorin got up. Bilbo heard bare feet against the floor as the king beat a hasty retreat for the door. The footsteps paused.

“Forgive me,” he said, so quietly that Bilbo had to strain to hear it.

“Thorin, is there…” Bilbo trailed off, trying to swallow the sudden lump in his throat. “Is there something wrong?”

Because there had to be. Else why would Thorin be sleepwalking into Bilbo’s room in the dead of night? Though Bilbo couldn’t imagine what would prompt a sleeping dwarf to do just that.

“It’s nothing,” Thorin uttered, sounding just about as convincing as Nori denying filching various trinkets from Rivendell. “I apologize for the trouble.”

And then he was gone, leaving Bilbo alone and perplexed.

Sleep didn’t come easily that time. Bilbo curled into his many blankets and furs, a frown on his lips and a mystery on his mind.

What was bothering Thorin?

Why was Thorin sleepwalking?

And more importantly, why was he ending up in Bilbo’s chambers?

The hobbit’s brow remained ever furrowed in thought when sleep finally claimed him again.

 

* * *

 

 3.

The third time it happened, Bilbo woke to his own name being whimpered into his ear.

It started quietly at first, the sounds coming whispered and breathless. Over time it got louder, more insistent, more panicked. The strong arms around his middle tightened, and the body behind him started shaking.

Groggily, Bilbo turned as best as he could within the confines of Thorin’s arms until he faced the dwarf who was calling out his name in broken cries.

“B-Bilbo…Bilbo… _Bilbo_ …!”

Bilbo’s heart stuttered in his chest before leaping straight into his throat.

Tracing his fingers over Thorin’s face, Bilbo felt the strained muscles in the clenched jaw and furrowed brow. He felt the quick breaths coming out from between gritted teeth and chapped lips. And there was a strange wetness trailing down from Thorin’s eyes, wrenched shut, soaking into his beard and Bilbo’s pillow.

“Bilbo! Oh, _Bilbo_ —“

“Shh…Thorin…” the hobbit soothed, leaning in close enough to touch their foreheads together if he wanted to. What was Thorin dreaming about to elicit such a response?

Why was Thorin saying his name so desperately?

It was just like then, when Bilbo had seen Azog deliver a near-fatal blow and drop Thorin to the ground. Bilbo remembered calling out his name, begging him to wake up, his pleas cut off by broken sobs—

It took a bit more hushing and soft words of comfort to calm the dwarf down. Bilbo had taken Thorin’s trembling hand in his own, rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs into the dry skin stretched over large knuckles. Finally, at long last, the tremors had lessened to mere quivers. Thorin’s breathing became less ragged, evening out as his sleep deepened, undisturbed by nightmares.

Bilbo, on the other hand, didn’t sleep a wink more that night.

 

* * *

 

4\. 

The fourth time it happened, Bilbo was still awake.

The candle on his bedside table burned low, coming close to being doused by its own pool of wax. The hobbit’s tired eyes watched shadows dance across the ceiling, imagining them taking form into beings much more frightening and ferocious than just the absence of light.

His door creaked open, and in stepped Thorin.

Bilbo leaned up on his elbows, watching the king with wary eyes. “Thorin?” he called out, receiving no reply.

The sleeping dwarf dragged himself closer and dropped onto Bilbo’s bed, sidling up next to the hobbit and burying his face in the crook of his neck. Bilbo could feel the coolness of one of Thorin’s beads against his skin and he tried to suppress a shiver.

Well, at least there didn’t seem to be any nightmares tonight.

Readjusting onto his side, Bilbo allowed himself to lie down and be held by Thorin. Hesitantly, he brought a hand up and carded his fingers through the dwarf’s silver-streaked ebony locks, still damp from that evening’s bath. If he wasn’t mistaken, he heard Thorin let out a sigh of contentment as he cuddled even closer to Bilbo.

Who knew Thorin could be so clingy in his sleep?

That night, Bilbo was asleep before his candle burned out.

 

* * *

 

5\. 

The fifth time it happened, Thorin was thrashing helplessly on the bed.

It had started out peacefully enough—Thorin wandering into Bilbo’s bed again, cuddling against the hobbit and murmuring in his sleep. A few hours later, something went horribly wrong.

Bilbo barely woke in time to dodge a fist to the face. He rolled to the other side of the bed, grabbing for the candle on his bedside table and striking a match to light it.

He watched as Thorin writhed on the bed, tangling himself in blankets and beating the daylights out of the mattress. There was indistinct shouting, pained cries in Khuzdul that Bilbo couldn’t understand.

The only word he could pick out was his own name, falling from Thorin’s lips like a prayer.

“Thorin…shh…” he soothed, staying perched on the other side of the bed so as to avoid being throttled by the distressed king. His whispers weren’t getting through, weren’t helping like they did last time.

“Bilbo…” Thorin choked out, tears flowing from his squeezed-shut eyes. “Oh, Mahal, what have I done—“

Bilbo was on him in a flash, using every bit of his inconsiderable strength to pin Thorin’s flailing limbs to the bed. He sat on the dwarf’s stomach, using his legs on either side to hold him in place. Thorin fought him the whole time, and Bilbo struggled to keep control.

“Please…Bilbo, _please_ …”

“Thorin!” Bilbo raised his voice, hoping against hope to get through to Thorin. “I’m right here…I’m here, Thorin…”

Thorin finally stopped thrashing. His eyes flew open, bloodshot and glistening with tears and oh so _frightened_.

“…Bilbo?” he asked hoarsely.

Nodding, the hobbit loosened his grip on the king and leaned forward to touch their foreheads. “It’s all right. I’m here.”

The dwarf let out a shuddering breath, raising a trembling hand to touch Bilbo’s cheek. His voice cracked as he spoke. “I thought I—oh, Bilbo, I’m so _sorry_ for everything—“

“Shh, it’s all right,” Bilbo repeated, pressing his lips to Thorin’s creased, sweaty forehead. He combed his gentle fingers through Thorin’s dark mane, blunt nails scratching against his scalp in a calming motion.

When Thorin finally quieted down, Bilbo rolled off of him and landed next to him. He gathered the shaking dwarf in his arms, murmuring sweet nothings and laying reassuring kisses to his forehead until they both fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

 +1

Bilbo smiled when he felt a soft kiss at the back of his neck.

“You better be awake,” he said sleepily, earning a chuckle and another kiss from Thorin. The dwarf’s beard tickled his skin in the most pleasant way.

“I am,” Thorin confirmed, his breath hot against Bilbo’s ear. The hobbit shivered.

“Do you mind?” Bilbo griped without any real heat. “I’m trying to sleep.”

Big, strong arms encircled him and pulled him flush against a hairy, muscled chest. “My apologies. Should I go back to my own chambers?” the king asked teasingly.

Bilbo shifted in Thorin’s grip, turning around to face him. “Don’t you even think about it, you confounded dwarf,” he threatened before Thorin silenced him with a kiss.

Well, at least the sleepwalking had stopped.


End file.
